J McKenna - Naughty girl

“What about DeeDee? Can’t you just let her go? Haven’t you tortured her enough?”

“Let her go?” He laughed, a deep booming sound. “Oh, no, DeeDee belongs to me. I have big plans for her.”

Carl glanced over to see DeeDee kneeling there, legs apart, back erect, hands crossed behind her, as she’d been taught. She seemed to have fallen right back into her controlled state. He wondered if she even knew he was here. If Turk shot him, would she react? Would she be sad?

Turk came forward. The gun in his fist loomed large. Carl could see eternity in the black hole of the barrel.

“If you shoot that gun in here, the neighbors are bound to hear,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He grasped at straws. “Besides, it’s not really the way you’d like to kill me, is it?” Carl held his breath.

Turk shrugged. “One way’s as good as another.” But he hesitated.

Carl jumped at the slim chance he felt he had. After all, he had nothing to lose. “I’ll bet you’d really rather take me on man-to-man, right? Get some of that anger out of your system? Think about how much more satisfactory it’d be to feel your fists breaking my bones, instead of just pulling a trigger. Hell, a woman could pull a trigger.”

Carl knew he’d appealed to Turk’s machismo. The big man’s eyes widened then narrowed. One corner of his mouth went up in a mocking sneer. “You think you could take me?”

Carl shrugged elaborately. “I’d at least have a fighting chance, wouldn’t I?”

Turk studied him for a long few seconds. “Crystal,” he barked.

The Asian came around quickly, bowing her head. “Yes, Master?”

“Get the girl.” She ran over to DeeDee and helped her to her feet. Bringing her arms around behind her, Crystal held them tight in her grasp then walked her over to Turk’s side.

“Stand in the kitchen. Find something to tie her up with. Make sure she watches this. I’m going to beat her boyfriend to death. DeeDee will know then who’s in charge.”

Turk handed her the pistol, then casually mentioned. “Oh, and if by some miracle he happens to win, shoot him.”

Carl’s heart lurched. His slim chance had just withered to nothing. If by some stroke of luck he managed to defeat this mountain of a man, he had no doubt that the loyal slave would try to shoot him. Would DeeDee try to stop her, or would she just stand there in a fog?

He had no time to think about it. Turk swung a heavy right hand at his head, expecting to end the fight suddenly. Carl ducked, pivoted and drove his own right hand as hard as he could into Turk’s stomach. It was like hitting a wall of muscle. Turk grunted and said, “You’ll have to do better than that, little man.”

Jesus! Carl thought. This guy is built like a truck!

He felt his adrenaline kick in. Turk reached out with his meaty left hand and tried to grab Carl. He parried it then drove his left foot hard against Turk’s knee. The knee gave slightly and Carl heard Turk curse. Then Turk twisted toward him, closing his right hand over Carl’s upper arm. Carl found himself being drawn up into a bear hug. He knew Turk could crush his ribcage if he managed to lock his hands behind him.

He slapped both hands over Turk’s ears, knowing it would cause excruciating pain to his eardrums and the big man dropped Carl. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he drove his right knee into Turk’s groin.

Turk bellowed and jerked backwards, folding at the waist. Carl tried to follow up, but Turk backhanded him, sending him flying into the couch. As he scrambled to his feet, Turk tossed an end table at him, causing him to fall again. He struggled to stand, but tripped over a table leg. He caught himself with one hand on the couch then looked up to see Turk pick up an ottoman and hurl it toward him. Carl fell back again awkwardly, feeling a sharp pain in his left arm when he tried to catch himself.

He rolled away, kicked his leg clear and stood up, just as Turk came at him with another roundhouse right. Carl got his left arm up just in time to block and felt it give way with an audible crack, sending shooting pains up to his shoulder. The punch, barely deflected, sent him reeling. The room spun and he found himself on his back, looking up at the murderous face of Turk. He held the wooden coffee table overhead, ready to smash it down on Carl’s head.

In a last, desperate act, Carl kicked at Turk’s leg, trying to knock him off-balance. It was a delaying tactic, he knew. With his left arm broken, he couldn’t stop the big man. Turk shrugged the blow off and aimed anew.

There was a sudden sharp report and Turk stopped in mid-action. His expression changed. He looked confused. He turned. Carl followed his gaze to see DeeDee, holding the pistol out in front of her, her face stained with tears. He looked down and saw Crystal, propped up against the cabinets, holding her head.

“Whaa…?” He couldn’t believe she’d gotten the gun away from Crystal.

There came another gunshot and Turk staggered, then let the coffee table slip from his grasp. Carl yanked his legs out of the way just in time before it crashed to the floor. Turk took a step toward the kitchen, his face blank.

“Dee…?”

“Shut up, asshole,” she said. She fired once more and Turk pitched over backwards. He groaned once then lay still.

Carl stared at the girl he thought he knew, not sure what to expect. He waited and watched as she slowly let the gun drop, then relaxed her grip. The gun clunked to the floor. DeeDee began to cry. Great, wracking sobs. She could no longer stand up, so she sank to the floor, weeping, covering her face with her hands.

Carl stood on shaky legs then went to DeeDee. He kept a wary eye on Crystal, but she seemed to be in shock in the corner. He could see blood trickling from her nose.

“DeeDee, are you okay? Are you with me?”

Her eyes came back into focus and she stared at him.

“Yeah.”

“How did you get the gun away from her?”

“Elbow.” Then she noticed his crooked left arm. “You’re hurt.”

Carl nodded. “Yeah.”

Her gaze went from it to Turk, lying on the floor, then back to Carl.

“Jesus. Is he really dead?”

“I think so.” He glanced over at Crystal. She wasn’t going to be much help. “Listen, I’m going to call the police. Will you keep an eye on Crystal?”

Her eyes locked onto his. “Okay.”

He picked up the gun with his right hand and placed it on the counter by the phone. He lifted the receiver.

“Is it really over?”

He turned to see DeeDee staring at him, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just done. “Yes. It’s over.”

For the second time in two days, Carl and DeeDee found themselves surrounded by police, answering questions. At first, they didn’t know what to make of the scene: A large, muscular man dead on the floor, shot three times, and two young women and a man with an impossible story to relate.

Once the Santa Barbara detectives talked to their counterparts in San Francisco, they came around. They were excited to be part of a high-profile bust. And all they had to do was show up.

While paramedics splinted Carl’s arm in preparation for taking him to the hospital, a detective came over with a cell phone. “Detective Reilly wants to talk to you.”

Carl took the phone in his good hand. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about the mess you got into down there,” Reilly said. “We should’ve thought to have someone check out your house. Dammit, we knew he had your wallet.”

“It never occurred to me, either. I figured he’d be long gone.”

“We should’ve guessed he might be so angry at you to make you pay for the loss of his business.”